The Visit
by chunkeymonkey
Summary: She will wait for him...He will always be there..The march of time will never end true love..


**This is based on the assumption that Clark can live forever, and his loved ones, well, can't.**

In a nursing home in Metropolis a woman waits, her frail body sunk into a wheel chair. It seems she never moves from her spot beside the window. The nurses call to her, trying desperately to coax her from post, but they do so to no avail.

_"Come down and join the others."_ They say, but she refuses.

_"What if he doesn't come today?"_ They protest; years have taught them to be cynical—_no one_ comes everyday—but she is not swayed. Today she will have a visitor. _Everyday_ she will have a visitor, and she waits patiently.

Day after day, never wavering, her eyes search the sky. She clutches an afghan to herself, clinging to it with knarled hands, paper thin skin stretched over bony knuckles, veins running like a roadmap underneath. A soft breeze blows in from the open window, ruffling her hair; hair that used to shine like spun gold, now as creamy white as her skin, and she pulls the blanket tighter. The wind ruffles paper clippings taped to her wall, their yellowed edges threatening to dissolve into dust. The walls surrounding her are filled with such clippings, serving as a reminder of a full life, of accomplishments and awards. Shiny placards paying tribute to her illustrious career—one that she does not remember. The ravages of age have stripped the woman of her past; her deepest and dearest memories are now a muddled, unclear patchwork, save for one. One memory that never fades.

A memory of a boy, of a friendship and a love stronger than anything she had ever known; of a bond that lasted through good and troubled times, only growing stronger. A memory of a promise to honor and cherish until the end of her days, and one made in return. A memory of a smile that made her weak in the knees. The woman reaches over; pulling the string that lifts the blinds, lifting them until they can go no further. She doesn't want anything in her way; nothing to obscure her view. She notices movement, a flash in the sky that makes her heart tremble. She lifts one of her tired hands in anticipation. Her eyes, a vibrant green that not even the years have altered, dart frantically, deepening the creases surrounding them. She never feels as alive as she does in these special moments, but it is not to be. Her spirits sink as she realizes nothing is there, the sky is empty. The smile fades from her face, but she is not deterred.

_"Just a trick of the light."_ She tells herself. _"But he will come, he always comes." _He always does. No matter famine or flood, he comes. No matter the unrelenting march of time, the days turning into weeks, months and then years, he comes. She knows he will always be there, and she takes comfort in that. That even as everything in life changes—her body shuts down, her mind dulls—he will be her constant. Constant—he never changes; he is the same as he ever was.

After a while of her gaze piercing through the clouds she feels her eyelids start to droop. They grow heavier by the minute and she struggles to stay awake. As her eyelids do their downward slide she sees it. It is quick, but unmistakable; a streak of red and blue that soars through the sky gracefully. If you blinked you would miss it, but she never does. She is filled with a rush of excitement and feels the blood surge through her veins, awakened and renewed with the promise of the joy to follow, the joy that remains within her after he visits. Another gust of wind blows. She feels it on her back but it does not come from the open window. Slowly she turns towards the door, knowing he is there. The red and blue are gone, replaced by a smart business suit and a pair of glasses she remembers he does not need. His dark hair is disheveled, his smile is warm. That smile—that smile she clings to.

He approaches her and crouches down just like he does everyday, grasping her tiny, wrinkled hand in his strong, smooth one. He dips his head to kiss it, his lips resting beside a golden wedding band on her finger, one that is the exact match of his. "Hello Chloe dear." He speaks softly.

She smiles, feeling tears of joy well up inside her; she knows it must be hard for him, to remain young and strong while watching your love wither away, but he insists he has no regrets. She has none either. "Hello Clark." She warbles, her voice cracking. "You came." She knew he would.

"Of course, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world."

She squeezes his hand with all the strength she can muster; knowing every word he says is true. A nurse in the hallway looks into the room as she passes, a smile mixed with relief and surprise flashes on her face. Her visitor _did_ come, and Chloe knows he _will continue _to come until she is there no more.


End file.
